Alone
by Articulatedream
Summary: Tony wakes alone, and realizes that Steve and Bruce have left him while he sleeps.


Tony sat on the side of the bed, his head firmly in his hands. For the first time in months his suite was empty.

It was quiet too. No pages turning as Bruce lounged on the couch with a book, or the gentle scratch of Steve drawing whatever had caught his attention this time. It was Tony's fault. It had to be Tony's fault, because that was the only possible reason that he had gone to bed with two men and woken alone in a very cold, very empty bed.

It had happened before of course; they all had hectic schedules to keep and both Tony and Bruce had woken up at 4 am and locked themselves in their labs while their bed mates still slept. But no, Tony had checked the video feed. They'd woken up almost before dawn, and snuck out of the tower half wrapped around one another, all smiles and gentle touches.

He knew a conspiratorial look when he saw one, and damned if those two weren't a pair.

It didn't make it hurt any less. His chest was a wound, as though without the arc reactor humming quietly along he would expire. It wasn't true of course, but he could be nothing the way he could be melodramatic.

He licked his lips, and then bit at them, fists pulling at his own hair. Maybe if he hurt himself enough then he could wake up, and this would all be okay and they would be back. But no, that's not the way it worked for Tony.

He was always, always, _always_the one to fuck up and get left behind. All he wanted was to fix it, and make it alright again. All he wanted was to not be alone. But honestly, all he wanted was a drink.

There was a bottle of whiskey out in the bar, the very last bottle that survived in Tony's suite. It had sat there for almost a year while he fought to stop drinking. While Steve and Bruce had gotten him to a place where he could survive without the alcohol. And now they were gone: poof, no goodbye's, just a whisper and a laugh at good ole Tony Stark as they tapped out at 6 am.

This might be what going mad felt like. The suite, empty is devoid of anything.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

They'd agreed, as the pieces had started to fall into place. _Agreed._That they would talk, that they would deal with shit, that they would do their level best not to tear each other's hearts out. All three of them had their issues. But they were stronger together than apart. Right? Hadn't that been the fucking point? That the three of them meshed so well, leveled each other out so perfectly that it had almost made itself work.

But now this. He was a genius; shouldn't he have seen this coming?

Tony sat up, one hand raking through his disheveled hair before looking towards the bar. It'd be so easy, one tumbler, one shot, fuck after a year one drop and he'd be on his way to better.

He had fought, long and hard for his sobriety. He had. Because it had been worth something with those two. But now? Now? Now he was alone, and they had left, had snuck out while he fucking slept, and now more than ever he wanted, craved, _needed_the warm relaxed pleasure that whiskey could grant him.

And who was he kidding anyway? Tony was a lifelong screw up. This would just be the latest in a life of serial disasters. So if he was always going to screw it up, why not? It was like the whiskey was whispering from him from across the apartment, and Tony couldn't ignore it any more. He levered himself up, and started for the bar in the kitchen, feeling leaden and empty.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting at the bar with a fresh shot glass sitting next to the unopened bottle of whiskey. If he opened that bottle, it would mean that he had already lost. It would mean the last year of sobriety had been for nothing, that what Bruce and Steve accomplished would mean nothing. It would mean they were really gone. He felt hollowed out, and he knew that the whiskey could fill that hole for the night easily. But if he slipped, it wouldn't stop there.

If he fell, he wasn't sure he'd be able to drag himself back again. It had taken Bruce and Steve months, and if he started drinking today he wouldn't stop until everything was gone. Until the world had faded beyond gray and black, until it was just nothing. Until he was gone.

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't break the wax seal on the bottle, no matter how much the amber liquid tempted him. He couldn't pretend it would be okay if he started to drink again. He'd nearly died the last time he'd slipped but Bruce and Steve had been there to pick up the pieces.

Who would pick up the pieces of Tony now? Scattered broken over the floor, who would help put him back together? Or would he just stay that way, broken into pieces like he had been before _Them_. Detritus, just the last pieces of a shattered whole.

Tony pushed away from the wet bar, moving to the gigantic leather couch that dominated the living room. He couldn't go back to that cold, empty bedroom. So instead he sunk into the couch, curling himself into a ball and closed his eyes. Perhaps if he laid by himself long enough sleep would come back to claim him, and take him away to somewhere better. Somewhere where he wasn't so completely alone.

Sleep came along and captured him, stealing him away in it's dark embrace. But it was restless, as he tossed and turned. He wasn't used to sleeping alone anymore, and nightmares chased him through the wispy dreamscape, surrounded by the voices of the men who had left him.

Tony was aware as he began to drift back into consciousness, a slow tether from the real world that slowly brought him back. He didn't want to go. At least while he'd slept he'd had Steve and Bruce with him even if only their voices. It was better than nothing. Slowly, he began to feel light touches across his head and down his back.

When he opened his eyes, it was nothing but darkness. Probably, because his face was buried in a pillow, while another was clutched to his chest. There was someone on the couch with him, and the smell of something amazing was wafting from the kitchen. Tony's heart was beating too fast, his chest tight: He was afraid to sit up, and take in the suite.

Terrified that when he did he'd still be alone and there would be no one in the kitchen. That there would be nothing to greet him, nothing in the apartment but the same damn bottle of whiskey. He wanted to sink into the couch, but he couldn't.

He couldn't because he was awake, and there was still someone stroking his hair. Because there was still the smell of something delicious he couldn't recognize. Because maybe...

So he clenched his eyes shut, and sat up slowly. As though, if he moved too quickly, it would all fade away like a terrible waking dream. And once he was sitting straight up, he slowly, slowly opened his eyes and looked to the right.

And Steve looked back. Steve looked back, with those bright blue eyes and such a fragile look on his face. Tony could have grinned and whooped and hollered. But he couldn't. Because Steve looked like he was barely holding it together, and Tony couldn't hear Bruce moving in the kitchen. And damn but he was still scared.

"Steve?" He hated that his voice came out so desperate small and vulnerable. Never mind that it was an exact representation of his emotional state at the moment.

Steve stared at him for a long moment, before reaching up a hand and cupping Tony's cheek with it, one thumb idly brushing over his cheekbone. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it, hurt filling his eyes slowly.

From behind him, Bruce came and settled in on the couch as well. Strong arms wrapping around Tony's torso, and his head resting over Tony's shoulder. And the dam broke. All the fear, and anxiety and hate seemed to wash away from Tony like the tide going out, replaced instead with love and acceptance. It was something only Bruce and Steve could do.

He started shaking, because they'd been gone and they weren't going to come back. But they had and they were here, and he had never been so thankful for anything. He wanted nothing more than to hold onto the two men here with him, and let everything else that had happened fade away.

"Tony" Bruce's voice was a gentle murmur. "What happened?"

He didn't want to answer. Didn't want to lay himself and his insecurities and the things he thought he had left on the wayside long ago out to bare. But he did. Because they'd promised. Tony had promised them, and they were pretty much the only two people in the world he never lied to.

"I woke up and you were gone, and I was fine and then I checked the cameras. You'd both left and you had this look and all I could think was you'd left. You had finally gotten sick of my shit and you'd left and all I wanted was a drink. But I couldn't, even though you were gone and you weren't coming ba-"

Bruce squeezed Tony around the middle at the same time that Steve moved in, pulling both men into his embrace.

"Never Tony. Not like that, never like that." It was Bruce murmuring in one ear as he clung to Tony as though he could melt into him from behind.

"It's okay Tony. We're here, not gonna leave you behind. You make sure _I _don't get left behind." Those were Steve's words, low and frantic as he pressed his forehead to Tony's, voice half desperate.

Tony wanted to believe them, did believe them really. But that nasty piece in the back of his brain kept asking why. Why had they left then, and why so early, why, why, why?

"Why did you leave then? And so early, you looked so pleased with yourselves…like you knew you were leaving me behind and it didn't matter…." His voice trailed off, and he knew he sounded like a lost little boy. But he couldn't help it, and for once he didn't care.

Steve half chuckled, forehead still pressed against Tony's. "You don't remember what today is?"

Tony pulled back, eyes searching Steve's as though they would give him a clue. He racked his mind, but this time last year he'd been so messed up. It all blurred together, just memories of Steve and Bruce telling him he could do this while one pushed him along and the other pulled.

"I-I don't…"

This time it was Bruce who laughed, the same small low laugh and smiled into Tony's back. "It's your anniversary. One year clean and sober. Steve and I wanted to make it special for you…"

Tony turned and looked at Bruce with wide eyes, and both Steve and Bruce sat back. They were still curled up with Tony, reassuring him with touches when words would not suffice.

"You left before 6 am! It's dark outside again!" Tony could hear his voice, all off kilter and half hoarse.

Bruce smiled and leveled a look at Steve. Tony turned his glance, and watched as Steve began to blush and look away.

"Our super soldier there got us lost in the city. For five hours." Tony could hear the amusement in Bruce's voice.

"You both have GPS. I made sure of it after the last time you got lost."

"Yeah," Steve started, his face beet red. "We left the phones in the car and then took a few wrong turns after we'd grabbed everything and we got lost." Steve put his head down and looked like the world's saddest puppy.

Tony stopped for a second and then stared between the two men he was cushioned between like they had each grown a second head.

"So you're telling me," Tony began, enunciating each word as though he couldn't believe what he was being told. "That you left at o'dark thirty because you wanted to surprise me today."

"Yes."

"But that after you parked…you lost the car which had your phones in it and you got lost looking for it."

"It's not like we go into the city by car much…" Steve tried half heartedly.

"For five hours."

Steve continued to look like a kicked puppy and he nodded softly.

"We brought you home presents?" It came out more as a question laced with 'please don't hate me because I love you too much' from Steve and Tony couldn't take it.

He started laughing, and once he started, he couldn't stop. It was ridiculous, in fact it was so ridiculous he wouldn't have believed it, except it was coming from Steve, so of course it was true because Steve couldn't tell a lie to save his life. No really.

The laughter was infectious, and soon all three of them were holding onto one another laughing, while dinner probably burned in the kitchen. But it was okay, because Tony was with the two people who mattered the most to him. And at the end of the day, having both of them home and here with him was all that actually mattered.

Except hadn't they said presents?


End file.
